


Rewrite the Stars

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Angst, Drunken Confessions, First Kiss, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:22:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: After a mistake he thinks will ruin his future, Kian wants to be alone.





	Rewrite the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ausfil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausfil/gifts).



> For my girl Ausfil who wanted Shian crying on a rooftop.

The air is cold, up here. Crisp distance between the cement rooftop and the stars, pressing down like prying eyes. Kian's breaths taste of them. Metallic salt and cold fire.

The stars taste an awful lot like tears.

He breathes out. No clouds. The others are out somewhere having fun. Kian can't begrudge them that. They won't all make it, he knows well enough. Maybe he'll be the next to pack up his things and leave the dream behind, though he suspects it'll be Michael instead. Bryan and Nicky both seem good lads, and Louis' never warmed to Michael the same way he has to Mark and Shane.

They're starting something. Taking tentative steps on a journey not all of them can travel to the end.

“I'm never gonna say goodbye, cos I never wanna see you cry...” He giggles. Reaches for the mini-bar vodka he snagged on the way up. Louis will probably purse his lips over the expense but they're in _London_ for fuck's sake. Recording in London. With big-time producers who know what they're doing, flicking switches and buttons on a mixing desk that feels like the control panel of a spaceship, making their tiny voices sound like something _real_.

Kian doesn't feel real. He feels alone. Laid on the cement of a rooftop and staring at bright stars.

He's not sure if he's supposed to be up here. Feels like if he was there would be other people, a nice vantage point like this. Nine stories up and a brick lip around the edge of the sky. There were stairs, though, and the ventilation fans are humming an offbeat rhythm nearby.

The door creaks.

Kian blinks back toward the sound. The vantage point turns Shane sideways, a black shape against the yellowed glow of the hotel stairwell. Not here for him, then, if the look of surprise is anything to go by. Kian looks back up at the stars.

“You're back early.”

“Wasn't feeling it.” Shane takes two tentative steps towards him. “Thought I'd spend some time in my room, but then...” He looks around. “What are you doing up here?”

“Thinking.” Kian raises the bottle to illustrate the point. Shane nods slowly. “I can go.”

“It's fine. Do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to?” They size each other up. It was never _like_ this before. Kian would say what he meant and Shane would reply, good or bad. There was honestly. The kind built on years of friendship and trust.

Kian doesn't know what they have now.

Shane sinks carefully down beside him, cross-legged.

“Pretty tonight.”

“Yeah.” Kian lifts his head to swig a choking gulp from the bottle, then hands it up. Shane sips as well. “I fucked up and I'm sorry.” Shane takes another sip but doesn't comment. “I've ruined everything. I didn't mean to.” He breathes out a lungful of tears. “I'll go in the morning. You'll have five again and then...”

“You don't have to play the martyr, Ki.” It's not accusing. Kian feels like he's been slapped anyway. He stays silent, blushing angrily while Shane hands the bottle back. “Nobody's asking you to leave. We've all worked too hard for this.”

“I've made things awkward.”

“So? We didn't speak for two weeks once because you threw my lunchbox in the Garavogue.”

“That's not the same.”

“It was a really cool lunchbox.” Shane is smiling. It doesn't make _sense_. “You wanna talk about it?” Kian shakes his head. “Why not?”

“I don't know what to say,” Kian admits. Shane nods, then takes the bottle back. It's not great vodka, tastes pretty horrible straight, and accordingly Shane winces between the two swigs he takes. “I didn't mean to kiss you. Especially not like that.” He looks back up at the scattered pinpricks of stars. Not as many as at home, the city is too bright. Joining sparse dots into a picture he can't quite make out.

He hadn't meant to. Mucking around in the hotel room they shared. Getting dressed, stealing each other's ties and throwing pillows and he'd ended up trying to snatch his comb out of Shane's hand. Pressed against him while one of his oldest friends held it out the window and tried to trip him.

Then he'd just...

Shane had frozen. Mouth a hard press and staring back, hazel eyes wide with shock. Then he'd pushed away, laughing, and said 'what?'. A dazed 'what?' that had settled between them like stone while Kian had run for the bathroom.

That had been this morning. A day of torture. Meetings. Recording. Sitting squashed in the back of a van, neither of them talking and Mark cornering him later to ask if everything was okay, if they'd had a fight.

They'd asked him out that night. A night in London Town, what craic! He'd said he was feeling unwell. That maybe he was sick.

He feels sick. Is sick.

“You know, if you're gay...”

“I'm not,” he interrupts quickly. Shane tilts his head. Kind and patient and this doesn't make _sense_. “I... don't know what I am,” he mumbles. “It's not...” He closes his eyes to let a breath out. “It wasn't supposed to be like this. I wasn't supposed to be like this.”

“If I did anything to lead you on...”

“You didn't.” He opens his eyes. Shane is peering down at him. Kian giggles. Can't help it. Drunk and Shane is looking down at him like a mama bird over her nest, face pinched in confusion. “Get away,” Kian cackles. Shane laughs nervously.

“What?”

“Just... your fucking face is ridiculous.” He bats Shane away, hears a laugh. Can't wipe the grin off his own face. Shane lays down beside him on his back, chuckling. “I can't do this. If Louis finds out...” He shakes his head. “Simon. All those guys. I'll be out of the band. They'll all look at me like...” His breath shudders out, carrying the threat of tears. “I don't want them to look at me like that. I'll just go on my own and then they won't have to.”

“Oh. Right.” Shane pauses. The silence sinks in around them. He wants to be sick and not just because of the vodka. Then he hears his friend let out a long sigh. “Okay, come on.”

“What?”

“We'll go pack.” Shane sits back up, grabs his wrist to tug him to a sitting position. “You're getting out of here, right? Might as well do it while the others are still out, then you don't have to explain to them why you're going.” He heaves himself to his feet. “Come on, then.”

“I...” The rush of panic is unexpected. “What?”

“I thought you were going?”

“Yeah, but...” Shane pulls. Drags him along the cement a little way while Kian tries to yank his arm back. “Let go!”

“No.” He's dragged further, floundering all over the place while Shane heaves him with both arms toward the stairwell. “No, Shane!” A squawk of laughter spills out despite himself. “Shane, you prick!”

“You can leave a note. _Dear lads and Louis, I'm sorry I'm stepping out on all of you like an eejit. I don't want it that much after all. Sorry for wasting your time._ ”

“That's not what I...”

“ _I'm sorry Graham and Derek left so I could stay, but I've changed my mind now because I kissed Shane and even though he's not going to tell anyone and isn't angry, I've decided I'm going home to sulk._ ”

“I'm not _sulking_ , I'm just...”

“You're making a decision.” Shane lets go. Kian flops uselessly to the ground. “You want to leave.” Kian stares up at him. Arms crossed and challenging. He isn't sure now. A minute ago he was sure.

“I don't want to leave,” he admits. Shane sinks down beside him again.

“Come here, there's crap all over your shirt.” He begins to dust Kian off where he's dragged across the dirty roof. “You think I haven't thought about running back home? We all have. Mark's homesick after two nights away.”

“Mark's not gay.” Shane's face twitches in a smirk. “What?”

“Honestly if one of you was going to be I was thinking it was him.”

“Oh.” Kian purses his lips. “You thought about it?” Shane finishes dusting him off.

“Not really. None of my business. But you know, lads sitting around having a couple of beers. It came up.”

“So everyone thinks so?”

“That Mark's gay? Yeah,” Shane laughs. Kian glares.

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know.” They're near the door to the stairwell. Kian feels sick, tired. A bit disoriented with the dragging and vodka. He's cold. “I don't want you to go home,” Shane murmurs. Hands cradle his. Kian looks down. Thumbs settled into his palms. He wants to cry. “I don't want any of us to go home, and I especially don't want anyone to go home over something I did.” Shane bites his lip.

“You didn't...”

“I didn't kiss you back,” Shane says quietly. “What if I had?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know.” Hazel eyes search his. “Leave if you want to, okay? Just don't do it because of me. It's been hard enough losing the others. Don't do this to me too.”

Kian's breath catches. Shane is still studying him earnestly.

“Do you want me?”

“Yes,” Kian whispers. Shane nods.

“Would you stay for me?” Kian chews his lip. “I... can't stop thinking about that kiss. I should have...” He looks down at their joined hands. “I don't know how I feel. I don't want to hurt you but.” His eyes close. Delicate eyelids. Kian can see the blood vessels in them, lines that join the stars. “I want to finish it. Just to see how it ends.” Dark lashes lift to reveal confused eyes. “Do you um...”

Kian leans in.

Awkward. Legs crossed between them so they have to crane in past their knees. Stop, half a millimetre between them. Kian can taste vodka on his own breath. Shane's eyes are lidded and curious.

His bottom lip touches Shane's top. An embrace that runs plush, separated by tingles.

Their mouths fold into each other. Chaste and still. A testing press. Fingers settle on his cheek.

When they draw apart a tongue darts playfully at his top lip, making him smile. Even when they're doing something this absurd Shane can't help but take the piss.

“How was that?” Kian asks numbly. Shane is blushing.

“I'm not sure yet,” he admits. “Um.” He runs a hand through his hair, then laughs. “Right. Yeah.” Kian lifts his knees to bury his burning face in them. “You're staying, though?”

Kian looks up. Shane is smiling and maybe this isn't so scary after all, no matter what they are to each other.

“I'm staying.”

“Cool.” Shane's knuckles nudge his cheek playfully. “We should um... do that again. Sometime.” He stands up quickly, as if to avoid Kian's reply. A hand reaches out to help him up. “Jesus, Egan, you're a mess. Change of clothes and we'll catch up with the others?”

“Sounds good.” Shane pushes open the door.

He's still holding Kian's hand.

 


End file.
